Sarah Gabriel (16 page)

S
tanding in the inn yard in the darkness, Alec swore under his breath. Without a horse, he had little chance of catching a Highland girl running over terrain that was no doubt familiar to her. Even with a horse, he would find it slow going in the rugged and rocky hills if Kate had indeed gone that way.

And he did not know which blasted direction she had taken. Swearing again, he turned to glance from one direction to another as the cool night wind ruffled his hair and lifted his jacket. He saw no one out in the moors and hills beyond the road anywhere he looked. She was gone—but where?

The little wildcat had bespelled him in his sleep after all, but he was determined to catch her and determined
that he would not be fooled again. The fever pitch of passion and release while she lay in his arms had been astonishing in its intimate power, but apparently that had not changed her mind about acquiescing to her custodial officer’s wishes.

Damnation.
He spun on his heel and walked toward the stables to rouse the sleeping groom, offering him three times the usual fee if a horse could be saddled quickly. Within minutes, Alec was mounted on a good bay mare. Turning her head, he cantered out of the stable yard.

Pausing in the middle of the cobbled road, he listened to the wind, to the burble of water, to the sound of night birds. Scanning the hills in the darkness, he did not know which way to go. He closed his eyes and imagined her walking the hills. She was a wild and fey creature who would not keep to the road. She was a Highland girl from a staunch Jacobite clan though he did not yet know which one.

Ah, he thought. She would go west—even northwest, toward the true Highlands. It was a guess, but likely the best one.

He turned the horse and headed away from the road. In the matter of Katie Hell, his heart seemed to know readily what his head could not always sort out.

Before long, a pale and silvery dawn lifted over the shoulders of the hills, and Alec saw the landscape around him more clearly: turf and rock, water racing through burns, and the vast bulk of the mountains in the distance. He had not ridden very far, perhaps a few
miles over the moorland, before he saw her climbing the shoulder of a hill.

In the dawnlight, he saw the bright blur of golden hair and the bell shape of her red skirt. Blasting out a sigh, he cantered the horse toward her.

Soon he halted at the foot of the hill and tied the reins to a tree, then ran up the slope with long-legged, sure steps.

Ahead of him, she walked steadily, perhaps tiring on the incline. Riding had conserved his energy, and being a Fraser of the Great Glen, he had spent much of his youth in the Highlands and knew how to pace himself on a hill, just as she did.

Coming closer, he picked his way over the incline, which was rough with stones and tangles of heather and gorse. Kate glanced back then and saw him. She ran, hair fanning out like sunrise, that red dress like a beacon as she crested the hill. Closing the distance behind her, Alec hurried upward, his legs longer and stronger than hers, and soon enough he was very close.

He reached out and took her by the arm. She jerked around in impatience and temper, and as she stumbled, he went to his knees into the heather with her. Catching her, he rolled with her and made sure she did not take a bruising as she fell. But he made sure she went down and had no chance to get away again.

She spun in his grip and began to crawl away on hands and knees, but Alec snatched her by the skirt, the ankle, the waist, wherever he could find a hold, and pulled her toward him.

She writhed and twisted like a water beast, and he fell partly over her to stop her. A pointed elbow to his stomach made him grunt, but he managed to pin her to the ground, on her back in the heather, his knees beside her hips.

Her eyes were wild, and she bucked under him. That could be delightful, he thought, in other circumstances—but he was not enjoying this at all.

“Settle down, lass,” he said breathlessly, pinning her arms.

She twisted. “Are you mad? Get off me—”

“Ease up. I would not hurt you.” He dropped his weight on his hands, pressed them to the earth beside her shoulders, keeping her trapped under him. “Do you think I would chase you out there for a tumble I could have from any number of willing lassies? You’re a plum, my dear, but I’m not so overcome by your legendary charm that I’d go to the trouble just now,” he bit out. He sat back on his heels, keeping her under him.

She glared up at him, breath and bosom heaving. She snarled something in Gaelic—he knew it was no compliment—and managed to free an arm, striking upward. Alec snatched at her wrist.

“Wherever did you learn such manners,” he said calmly, and rose to his feet, hauling her up with him. “Come with me.”

“I won’t go anywhere with you.” She brushed at her skirt.

“Would you rather sleep in the heather? Last night you were very particular about your bed.” He pulled her with him, and when she stumbled, he put his hand
on her elbow. “I’ve no great whim to be chasing spoiled young lassies over the hills in the middle of the night.”

“It’s dawn,” she said, as if determined to contradict him any way she could. “I have to go home. That’s all.”

“Tell me where it is, and we’ll both go. I’ve questions for your kinsmen as well.”

“We will not be troubling them with Whig business.”

He huffed. “My horse is at the foot of the hill. Home, hey?” he asked, as she tramped along beside him, her arm rigid in his grasp. “It must be a grand place, with you in such a fever to get there.”

“It is. But I’ll not tell you where to find it.”

“Katie my dear, your intractable nature does you no good. Think how poorly it will go with the Lord Advocate if you refuse to identify yourself.”

“I can avoid trouble for both of us by just going home.”

“Oh, for my sake? Or just to ignore this whole business?”

“If you would leave me here, I know these hills—”

“Ah, so you do live near here somewhere.” He led her toward the waiting horse. “If you want to protect others, take my advice and do not be the saintly, sacrificing sort. It does not pay in the end.”

“I am not sacrificing anything. My sister is more that sort. She considers others first, always, sometimes to her detriment. But I am not like that.”

“So I see,” he drawled. “If your sister does not have your wildcat ways, then bless the lass for a saint.”

He thought Kate laughed. “My brother used to call her Saint Sophia. She’s a patient soul, though she has a
temper when she needs it. One day she was stolen away by rebels and had to find the courage and spirit to defend herself. And now she’s married to the very man who took her away.”

“Brave man indeed,” Alec grunted. “Watch your step.”

“She’s sacrificing and loyal, but I’m loyal, too. That’s why I must get back home. If you have any true Gael in you, you’ll understand that.”

“Loyalty can be overdone. I lost someone once by being too loyal.” He wondered why he mentioned that.

“What do you mean?” she asked as they walked.

He sighed. “A few years ago, I lost my betrothed when I was in Leiden studying. I wanted her to be happy, urged her to do what she most needed, while I was gone. She decided she most needed my brother and could not wait for me.”

Kate halted, stared up at him. “Oh! I am so sorry.”

“Aye, well,” he muttered. “She had her reasons, I suppose.”

“It must be hard for you to visit them.”

“At the time, aye, but they’re both…gone now. He died months ago of a sword wound, and she…passed away over two years ago in childbirth. I am guardian to my three nieces now.”

“Do they live in your house in Edinburgh?”

“Aye.”

“I would like to see them,” she said.

That surprised him. He glanced at her. “Why, after this great urge of yours to be shut of me?”

“If I cannot get shut of you, and if I do have to go to
Edinburgh, I’d rather visit your wee nieces than meet the Lord Advocate,” she said reasonably.

“Understandable. But you’d see the Lord Advocate at any rate. He’s my uncle.”

She stared at him, slowing her step. “Is he a Fraser, too?”

“No, but an uncle just the same.”

“Then I need not worry. Why did you not tell me before?”

“Do you think I can buy your way free with him for that reason? Hardly. Though you might try your wistful, bonny charm with him…so long as you do not expect the old gentleman to chase you through the streets.”

“That’s just for you,” she snapped.

“I doubt anyone could charm the old man,” he mused. “He is wretched and disagreeable. I wish you luck of it.”

She muttered something low in Gaelic and stomped away. Alec strode with her, his hand firmly on her arm. “Lass,” he said between his teeth, “I think you are not so much an irresistible siren, as they say of Katie Hell, as a spoiled and overindulged young lady who suits herself.”

“How do you know that I am not thinking of others every moment,” she said hotly, “including now? Would I be in this fine pickling if not for them? I would not!”

He chuckled, for her slight trace of accent and her Gaelic speech patterns showed now and then. “Pickle,” he said. “Fine pickle. And we’re both in it. Asking who the devil you are is not intended to harm your kinsmen, but to help you,” he pointed out.

She tilted her head. “How could that be?”

“Obviously you are fiercely devoted to your Jacobite kin, though they seem to have sent you into the mouth of the lion to fetch information for them. But what have they done for you?”

“They are not cowards,” she burst out. “They are utterly loyal to their clan and their rightful king!”

“All a fine bunch of rebels within one clan, is it? I see. Are you MacDonald, then? My mother was of that ilk. Or MacDougall? They’re loyal to a fault when it comes to the crown of Scotland and the king over the water.”

“I’m no MacDougall, though I respect their stand in this rebellion. And if you’re a Keppoch MacDonald through your mother, then why are
you
wearing a red government coat?”

“We’re discussing your kin, not mine. You could be a MacGregor,” he went on, “since you refuse to give your name. The Gregorach are a proscribed clan, and Miss Kate prefers to remain nameless. Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin, sliding her a glance.

“Wrong, though I’ll admit to having some MacGregor kin.”

“This is a fine game, but I’m losing patience. Perhaps I’ll just call you Rumpelstiltskin when we go to Edinburgh.”

She laughed then, an enchanting chime. “I’ve read that tale in the German, sir, but I’m no Hanoverian. In Scotland you’d have to call me Miss Whuppity-Stourie. It’s also a tale of guessing and magical names.”

“My nurse told me the story often enough. Magical, I agree, though you’re definitely not a gnomish sort. Let
me see,” he murmured. “You were heading northwest. If you kept walking in that direction, you’d come across MacPhersons…and those devils the MacCarrans of Duncrieff, a small but troublesome nest of Jacobites. Fiercely loyal, and clever, too.”

“I am thinking that Miss Whuppity-Stourie is a nice name.”

“Aha! MacCarran! They have a legend about fairy blood, I think. It makes so much sense, I should have realized it earlier.” He crowed with victory. “Kate MacCarran!”

“Now what?” she asked bitterly. “Shall I turn around three times and disappear?”

He grinned. “How about spinning me a barnful of gold?”

“I’d rather turn you into a frog,” she sulked.

“Marie Katherine MacCarran.” He hooted softly, saw her grim expression, and grew sober. “Are you the daughter of a rebel, or sister to one? The MacCarrans are a fine lot, but gone to rascals of late. Your chief was imprisoned a while back, though it was established as a false charge later. He’s young…and I would guess you’re his sister. What is his name? Robert MacCarran.”

“Oh, hush up,” she muttered.

“Sister to a chief,” he said, pleased with himself.

“And you thought I was just a fairy queen,” she snarled.

They reached the bottom of the hill, and he led her toward the waiting horse. “A pity I did not learn your name that day in London. It would have been easy to put all this together.”

“I learned yours,” she said. “I learned about the chocolate, too, but not the Whiggishness.”

“What have your kinsmen talked you into doing for them?”

She tried to jerk her arm away, but he gripped her securely. “I do what I please, and no one orders me.”

“I do not doubt that,” he said. “But you’re helping your kinsmen for some reason.”

“MacCarrans have always been loyal to the Stuarts, which you, as a red-breasted puppet of Lovat, may not comprehend.”

“Aye, the lass has a mouth,” he muttered. “Why did the rogue MacCarrans send a lass to do their work for them?”

“Because they would look odd carting laundry about.”

Alec chuckled. “Miss MacCarran, you keep your secrets close. Come on.” He walked her forward, lifted her into the saddle, and swung up behind her, shifting her onto his lap.

She turned. “You learned my name,” she said, holding out her hand. “We had a bargain. I’d like my necklace now, please.”

He lifted a brow. “I had to guess the name.”

“You enjoyed it,” she pointed out, and Alec smiled. “Now I’ll have my crystal and chain from you.”

“Very well.” He sighed, and stretched two fingers into an inside pocket of his jacket. “You did not look there earlier, did you,” he said wryly, pulling out the silver chain and quartz crystal. “You were too busy looking elsewhere, weren’t you.” He pooled the silver into her palm.

She cupped her hand, and such joy lit her face that he felt foolishly glad to see it. “Thank you. And as for looking elsewhere…you liked it well enough.”

“I did. So did you.” He watched her.

She shrugged, and in the pale dawn he saw her blush.

“What is so important about that bonny wee bauble?” He helped her to fasten the clasp behind her neck, his fingers straying a little to trace over her neck. She bowed her head, and angled away from him, the gesture a silent reminder that he was, after all, her captor and not really her lover, even if he felt so tempted to change that.